


Comfort

by Maiden_of_Asgard



Category: Loki - Fandom, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Arrogant Prince Loki, Coercion, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Dungeon Sex, F/M, Humiliation, Inappropriate Use of Seiðr, Loki is a Condescending Ass, Loss of Virginity, POV Loki (Marvel), Post-Avengers (2012), Pre-Thor: The Dark World, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-18
Updated: 2018-05-18
Packaged: 2019-05-08 14:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14695869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maiden_of_Asgard/pseuds/Maiden_of_Asgard
Summary: An endless lifetime of imprisonment beneath the gleaming palace of Asgard promises to be terribly boring, and the God of Mischief dreads every single second, spending his days brooding and irate.Fortunately, it turns out that being a prince, even a disgraced, traitorous one, has certain... perks.





	Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> I usually write painfully-long slowburns. This is not one of them.
> 
> Please enjoy. <3

Loki Laufeyson, _formerly_ Odinson, had once sat upon the great throne Hlidskjalf, presiding over the glittering Realm Eternal as its king. Now he dwelt beneath the shining palace that he’d once been foolish enough to call _home,_ a prisoner and (by most opinions) a traitor.

A madman, some said.

He didn’t entirely disagree.

Had the entire invasion-of-Midgard debacle occurred only a few years earlier, Loki might’ve expected for Odin to let him ‘learn his lesson’ in a few decades or less. _Now,_ however, he knew the _truth,_ and he sincerely doubted that the Allfather’s mercy would extend to a _Frost Giant._

And so he idled away his days, reading and fiddling with simple, basic illusions and dreaming of vengeance. He predicted that his chances of _rehabilitation_ were slim.

He doubted that Odin cared.

It was difficult to keep up with the passing of time in his cell, and he relied heavily upon the changing of the guard in the dungeon, and on the infrequent (yet persistent) gifts from Frigga. She seemed determined to ensure that he got _something_ at least every so often, typically treats from the kitchens or books. He couldn’t understand why she bothered, now that he knew the truth, now that _everyone_ knew the truth.

Loki had been an occupant of his new home for weeks, adapting to the monotony and the boredom with very little grace, becoming more and more irritated and on-edge by the day. There wasn’t even anything to _look_ at, aside from the burly guards who routinely passed by; it seemed that a conscious effort was being made to keep his section of the dungeon as empty as possible. He assumed that it was either an attempt to kill him from lack of entertainment, or an effort to keep him from enticing any recruits into his schemes.

That is why, when the walls of his cell suddenly turned opaque, Loki sat up on his cot with interest, snatching the cup he had been carelessly tossing about from mid-air. He typically only had the luxury of privacy for a few hours during the night, and he _knew_ that it was still early in the day, for he had not yet been served lunch. _So what could…_

The door opened for just a moment, _just_ long enough to admit a rather reluctant-looking girl, and then it disappeared again, indistinguishable from the rest of the smooth, golden walls that surrounded his prison. He’d made out the flash of armor behind her as she’d stumbled into his cell, and his mind briefly flitted to the possibility that he was going to be faced with the indignity of sharing a cell with some other prisoner.

_Surely not._ Even as a prisoner, he was still a _prince,_ and he deserved private accomodations, if nothing else. Besides, the powers-that-be _had_ to know that he’d kill any other criminal that they decided to foist upon him; he had never been too _keen_ on sharing space with anyone.

The girl stood just inside the now-vanished door, staring at him, and Loki stared blatantly back. She was petite, with just a _tiny_ bit of a summer glow to her skin, the majority of her hair pulled up into a twist, with just a few honey-colored strands hanging loose. Warm brown eyes. Older but relatively fine clothing - _not a servant, then._ Too small to be much of a warrior - _not an assassin, either._ Pretty enough, he supposed, concluding his assessment, but altogether unremarkable.

“Well?” he asked impatiently, gripping the cup in his hand so tightly that it began to dent.

“I… I am here to serve you, my prince.” She clasped her hands tightly behind her, standing up a bit straighter, an obvious attempt to hide the tension that was simply _rolling_ off of her in waves. The move put her chest a bit more on-display, and Loki’s eyes wandered back down her form, taking in the low-cut (but not _scandalously_ so) bodice of her gown, and the silver belt that accentuated her waist and the flare of her hips.

“To _serve_ me?” He sat the cup aside, his curiosity piqued. “Your attire is not that of a servant.”

“No,” she said, turning her eyes to the floor as a rosy blush began to take to her cheeks, “I am meant to offer you comfort.” As she squirmed under his scrutiny, she hastily added, “In any manner you might wish.”

_“Ah,”_ he said, realization dawning. “So, I have been sent a whore to slake my _savage_ desires.”

The girl flinched slightly at his words, no doubt terrified; he supposed that a Jötunn in a prison cell was not exactly her usual clientele. Somehow, it only made his temper worse. “Do you have a name?” he bit out. “And who arranged for this?”

“Svanlaug, sire. Arnisdóttir.” Her eyes stayed rigidly fixed on a spot on the floor somewhere near his feet, and it was beginning to vex him. “Prince Thor has been making discreet inquiries to find a… a _companion_ for you. I offered myself.”

_Oh,_ she _offered herself up,_ did she? A martyr, a _sacrifice._ _Poor girl,_ to be tasked with bedding the disgraced prince, the would-be king, the _monster._ Hatred gripped at his heart, holding together the cracks formed by wounded pride.

“Really?” he said, disinterested arrogance dripping from his tone with practiced ease. “At what price?”

“Freedom for my brother, who stands accused of murder,” the girl whispered. “And the salvation of my family estate.”

His eyes narrowed then, disgusted that she was so terribly _pathetic._ Was he supposed to _care?_ And really, if Thor had some idiotic idea to attempt to mend their horribly fractured relationship by sending him a woman, did it really _have_ to be some trembling waif who appeared to have exactly _zero_ desire to seduce him?

_But then,_ he thought, bitterness creeping through his veins, _finding a whore willing to mate with a Frost Giant is likely no easy task._ He decided that he might as well put her to good use; it _had_ been a long time, and at least it would provide him with some sort of release.

“Go on then,” he commanded with a mocking smile, spreading his knees wide. _“Comfort_ me.”

The girl - _Svanlaug,_ he reminded himself, though he did not really care for the name - approached hesitantly, as if she feared that he might suddenly strike. Once she drew near, she stood there, just within his reach, watching him with wide, uncertain eyes.

“On your knees,” he said, impatient. Perhaps she had been warned to only do _exactly_ what he instructed, or perhaps she was simply too dull to take any initiative. Loki rolled his eyes as she fell to her knees, and he unfastened his trousers, eager to get things moving along. He was already semi-aroused simply from the base prospect of being inside a woman again, though the circumstances were far less than ideal. “Go on.”

At his urging, the girl scooted closer between his legs, wrapping her fingers delicately around him, her other hand coming to rest on his thigh for support. He inhaled sharply at the contact, irritated that something so simple as a mere _touch_ could make his heart race. She was incredibly hesitant, and he sighed; there was a time in his life when this sort of meek coyness was enticing, but this was not it. Whatever this game of delayed gratification she was playing might be, he was having none of it, and he closed his hand around her own, guiding her to stroke him.

Once she seemed capable of handling _that_ simple-enough task on her own, he moved his hand to her hair. The daft creature did not seem to take the hint, and he sighed again. “Must I tell you how to do your _job?”_ he asked. “Put that pretty mouth of yours to good use.”

Her eyes flickered up to meet his as a deep flush spread across her cheeks, but then she seemed to resign herself, closing her eyes as she leaned forward to press her lips to him in a gentle kiss. Loki was flummoxed, but while it was not exactly what he had been suggesting, he found it fairly pleasing, in a teasing, promising sort of way.

He allowed her a few moments to explore as she wished, and the girl became increasingly bold, her tongue sliding out to taste him, though she kept her eyes firmly shut. _Likely imagining that I am someone else,_ he thought, and his temper flared. “Open your mouth, wench,” he ordered, and when she’d complied, he tugged on her rapidly-collapsing bun, guiding himself between her parted lips.

His muscles tensed slightly as he felt her tongue move against his shaft, but she otherwise remained perfectly still, frozen in place. Grip tightening on her hair, he began moving her as he wished, feeling that primal, all-consuming drive to find release begin to build. Her fingers dug into his thighs as his movements became more rough, and a sudden, sneaking suspicion took hold of him.

“You have never done this, have you? You are very unskilled.”

While the last part was _true,_ he said it mostly in an attempt to wound her, for he was finding her useful enough. Unable to speak, the girl gave an embarrassed hum of acknowledgment in response, a sensation which Loki found rather enjoyable. He yanked her away, and she fell back onto her bottom, eyes wide and lips slightly swollen.

“Get on the bed. On your knees.”

She hurried to obey, and he knelt behind her, tearing open the fastenings along the back of her bodice; he did not particularly care to go to the effort of undressing her entirely, but he did want to touch her, as he quite enjoyed the feeling of warm, soft, smooth skin. Her skirt, thankfully, was not very voluminous, and he pushed it up to her waist, amused to discover that she wore no underthings.

He was even _more_ amused by the discovery that she was _visibly_ slick with her own arousal, no matter how humiliating she found her task. Or perhaps it was _because_ she found her task so humiliating, so _dirty…_ He laughed to himself at the thought, dragging the head of his cock along her slippery folds, and the girl buried her face against the bed, apparently eager to hide.

When he pushed inside of her suddenly, he was not sure who was more surprised - her, at the sudden intrusion, or him, at how incredibly, almost-painfully _tight_ she was. A half-muffled cry escaped her, and Loki froze for a moment, glowering down at the back of her head with narrowed eyes, realizing he’d been misled.

“When you said that you had not _done_ this before,” he snapped, “I thought that you referred to sucking cock, not the _entirety_ of sexual experience.” The girl gave a single, tiny shake of her head, and Loki sighed in resignation. Truly, he had the _worst_ luck in the Nine Realms.

His next thrust found her, if anything, even tighter than before, and he slapped his hand down on her backside, immensely irritated. “While I do not particularly _care,”_ he said, noting with disdain how quickly her skin began to redden from the blow, “I strongly recommend that you _relax,_ or this will be far more painful than it needs to be.”

She was only there to service him, however, not to gain any pleasure of her own, and so he did not really mind her obvious discomfort or the slight trembling of her shoulders as he continued, one large hand at the juncture of her neck and shoulder, pressing her down against the mattress. What he _did_ mind was the fact that she seemed determined to make no reaction whatsoever. Oh, she felt nice enough, and her small body pinned beneath him was an arousing sight, but she was _entirely_ silent.

It was very displeasing.

Loki’s seiðr was limited within the magical confines of his cell, but not strongly enough to keep him from sending a small wave of suggestibility into the girl as he tightened his grip on her neck, _just_ enough to heighten her sensitivity. He did not particularly care if it increased her pleasure or her pain, he just wanted _something._

It came as a very abrupt surprise when a tiny, answering spark of magic sprang alight to meet his own, warm and tingling, and his eyes fluttered closed at the sensation of it, while the girl suddenly cried out. Raw, untapped, unnurtured magic… buried deep; she likely wasn’t even _aware_ of it. Perhaps she wasn’t _entirely_ useless, after all.

Her little whines and gasps, now falling freely from her lips, were enough to bring him close, though he still resented that he was having to do all of the work. Releasing her neck, he slid his hand slowly down her spine, noting with some interest the way that she shivered and buried her face in his sheets.

“You really are a _terrible_ whore,” he said, bringing his hand down on her backside once again, relishing her muffled cry at the sting of it and the way her muscles clenched. “And I _should_ send you back and negate this bargain of yours.”

“No,” she whimpered, _finally_ saying something, _“Please,_ sire, do not send me back.”

He stilled for a moment, intrigued that he’d finally managed to wrangle some interaction from her. “Beg me.”

“What?” She sounded confused, her breath coming in short pants. The ever-so-slight rocking of her hips did not go unnoticed.

“Beg me to _fuck_ you, wench. That is what you _need,_ isn’t it? Your end of the bargain?”

“Yes.” The reply was muffled, and he had no doubt that if he could see her face, she would be crimson with mortification. “But I cannot say _that.”_

“You’d best call the guard, then.”

He smiled as her hands balled into tiny, trembling fists on either side of her head, grasping at the sheets. A more experienced, wiser woman might’ve called his bluff; he was _much_ too close to let her leave, now, but the girl seemed genuinely terrified that he would cast her aside and ruin her deal.

“Please,” she mumbled.

“That won’t do, and you know it.”

_“Please.”_ Her voice was barely audible. “Please, fuck me.”

She said it with all the halting awkwardness of someone who’d never dared to utter a filthy word in their life, which he found surprisingly appealing. Perhaps it was simply the allure of _corruption,_ of tainting some pure, naive Asgardian maiden, a symbol of all that he’d come to despise. Whatever the reason _was,_ it spurred him on, and the girl’s soft whines and tiny groans increased in both frequency and volume as he returned to his former rhythm.

Gripping her hips tightly, he focused on the feel of warm flesh against his own and the soft, feminine notes of her voice; it had been a long, _long_ time indeed, and he might as well enjoy it while he could; Norns only knew when he would have the freedom again to be _choosy._

“Please,” she practically sobbed, “sire, I _beg_ you.”

_That_ was apparently all it took to send him over the edge, and he came with a grunt, fingers digging so deeply into her skin that he was certain it would bruise. _As it should._ He kept her in place as he felt her begin to try and pull away, basking for a moment in the profound sense of satisfaction and _calm,_ no matter how short-lived it might be.

She was likely _relieved_ to be filled with his seed, he realized then, likely believing herself to be freed from the monstrous indignity of _servicing_ him, now that he’d spent himself inside of her. The thought made his temper flare, and Loki wrapped his arm around her neck, pulling her back onto her knees, flush against his chest.

_Nothing to hold onto now,_ he thought malevolently, smiling to himself as she gasped and clutched at his forearm, frantically trying to regain control of her balance. He would not allow it, and she continued to struggle as he slipped his unoccupied hand down below the gathered fabric at her waist, fingers exploring the slickness between her thighs.

“You may pretend to yourself that there is some dignity and honor in this, in giving your body over to me to save your family,” he told her, lips pressing against her ear as he began to circle the tiny, hardened bundle of nerves that held the key to his victory. “But you will remember the way you moaned like a slut as you came at my touch, _won’t_ you, Svana?”

The use of a pet name was a _brilliant_ idea, for she gasped and cried out as her climax took her by surprise, the feel of her tight little body pulsing and clenching around him nearly enough to ready him for another round. He let go, letting her fall gracelessly against the cot, and stood to right his trousers.

The girl scrambled to her feet as well after a moment or two of shocked silence, pulling her clothing back into place as best as she could. It seemed pointless, in his opinion; even if the walls were soundproof, which he wasn’t entirely certain of, it would be obvious to anyone who saw her that she’d just been well and truly fucked.

It was the first time he’d actually stood beside her, and the difference in size was laughable; Loki could easily snap her like a twig, if he wanted. She knew it, too - there was a definite tinge of fear in those wide, expressive eyes of hers.

“For the next time,” he said, staring down at her, “wear something that better befits your new station. And leave your hair down.”

“Next time?”

He sneered at the apprehensive, yet somehow _hopeful_ note in her voice. “Yes. And you are to ready yourself before you come to me. Do you understand?” She blushed, embarrassed at her own lack of comprehension, and Loki grit his teeth. “You will touch yourself before you return to me, but you may not climax. Am I understood?”

She nodded, wringing her hands fretfully.

“Speak.”

“Yes, sire.”

“Good. Now, get out.”

The girl rushed across the cell with as much grace as she could muster, pressing her palm to the surface, and Loki could see the edges of the door begin to appear. _Interesting._

“Thank me,” he demanded suddenly.

His voice caused her to flinch, and she turned back to him with her palm still pressed against the wall, a look of apprehension on her face. “Sire?”

_“Thank me,”_ he spat, “for allowing you this _opportunity.”_

“Thank you, sire,” she replied, unsteadily curtsying as the doorway opened. Then she fled, and by the time his cell returned to its normal transparency, she was nowhere to be seen.

 

* * *

 

His brother finally came to visit him the next day, a delightfully-uncomfortable expression gracing his features. Loki launched into a tirade almost immediately. “You truly _are_ a buffoon, aren’t you? A blushing virgin with a sob story - is the realm _truly_ so bereft of whores, that you had to reach so low?”

Thor’s face darkened like a stormcloud, though Loki thought he might spot a bit of a blush there, as well; the big lout had always been surprisingly easy to embarrass when it came to matters of a more _delicate_ nature. “She is well-born,” he said, “and I needed someone who could be trusted to remain discreet.”

_Ah._ Leaning back against the wall of his cell, Loki pretended to casually examine his nails. “So these are not officially-sanctioned visits, I take it?”

“Of _course_ they aren’t. Why in the Nine would Odin allow such a thing? Do you understand how _furious_ he is with you? And Mother… Norns be with me if _she_ were to ever find out…”

That put a smile on his face, the little added bonus that Thor stood to suffer if the whole affair were to be uncovered. “Do you _really_ think that this will change anything?” he sneered. “That acting like you care will somehow _fix_ me? Throw a woman my way and suddenly we’ll be _brothers_ again? Or is this simply an attempt to assuage your guilt for putting me here in the _first_ place?”

“I would much rather you return to being an arrogant prince than to stay a mad traitor!” Thor seemed to realize then how loud his booming voice had grown, glancing about the corridor cautiously. “I thought that companionship might be… helpful for you. Someone gentler to talk to, to spend time doing something other than brooding away in that convoluted mind of yours.”

His eyes narrowed. “Do not pretend that you sent that waif here to _talk_ to me.”

If anything, Thor appeared to grow even more uncomfortable. “I warned her that there would be a more physical aspect to her task. She agreed readily enough.”

“What _I_ find surprising is that a bleeding heart like you would not simply rush to her aid, free of bargains.”

“I cannot. Her brother is unquestionably guilty; if the family was of a lower rank, he would likely be dead already.”

“Yet you would thwart Asgardian justice to get what you need from her. I’m almost _proud_ of you.”

“Because of her station, she would not dare risk wagging her tongue about this to anyone; her only hope to restore some of the family’s grace is to marry well, and this would ruin any prospects if word got out. And when I swore to her that I will see her brother reprieved if she acted her part, I meant it. She is a dedicated little thing, and I thought her the best choice.”

Thor paused for a moment, seemingly lost in thought, and Loki rolled his eyes. Of _course_ Thor would get caught up in the girl’s pathetic story, romantic simpleton that he was. “Did you hurt the girl?” he asked then, and Loki did not know whether to be proud or offended that his once-brother could not meet his eyes as he said it.

“What did she tell you?”

“She would only say that you found her satisfactory. Did you?”

Loki gave a half-hearted shrug. “Well enough. I suppose she may return; it will give me something to do besides reading.”

He refused to speak after that, and Thor soon gave up and walked away with a sigh, leaving Loki alone with his thoughts. Throwing himself down on his cot, he closed his eyes and tried to remember the feel of the tiny spark of the girl’s innate magic, which had practically _begged_ to be put to good use.

The corner of his lip turned up in a smirk, and he turned back to tossing the dented metal cup in the air, allowing the flash of silver to mesmerize him as it spun and reflected the golden light of his cell.

“Come back soon, _Svana.”_

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Going to hide away in my "what nonsense did I just write??' corner now, folks. (But seriously, prisoner Loki is just so darn *appealing*).


End file.
